“Not me, my friend.” The shadow that passed across Diarmid’s dark, intense features sparked Marina’s curiosity. “The lassies can sleep easy. I won’t trouble them with a wooing just yet.”
Before she could probe further, Papa was clapping his hands and requesting silence. She and Fergus had appointed him master of ceremonies, not only because he was Marina’s business representative, but also because his theatrical nature thrived on being the center of attention.
“Attenzione, attenzione! Prego! Prego!”
Gradually the hubbub subsided, allowing Papa to begin a fulsome speech about Marina and her work. When Fergus caught her hand, she twined her fingers about his. It was lovely being feted and receiving such accolades for her art, but her unshakable love for her husband was the source from which all her other happiness flowed.
“He’s enjoying himself,” Fergus whispered in her ear. “Do ye think we’ll get out of here before Tuesday?”
“Shh,” Marina said, stifling a giggle. Her father had been speaking for ten minutes already, and he was only up to the day Marina started at art school.
At last Papa became aware that his audience grew restless, and he stepped aside to gesture to a shrouded easel that the waiters had carried in while he meandered on. “My brilliant daughter has one more surprise for you, a final painting that she tells me is a gift to her most distinguished husband, the Mackinnon, Laird of Achnasheen. The man I am honored to call my son-in-law. Fergus Mackinnon.”
Fergus’s grip tightened, and he turned to her baffled. “What the devil…”
Marina smiled up at him, as uncertainty coiled in her stomach. It was possible he mightn’t appreciate her offering, even though she’d worked harder on it than she had on any other painting in her life. “It’s a surprise.”
“Aye, it’s that, all right. Is it a picture of the castle?”
“Wait and see,” she said, pulling free and crossing to stand at the easel.
More applause broke out and an occasional cheer, which she would have thought beneath the dignity of this high-born audience.
Ladies didn’t make speeches, so she’d been informed, and while she had few qualms about standing up to Fergus in private, she had no wish to shame him in public by having the world say he’d wed a hoyden. So she curtsied and murmured her gratitude and waited for the acclaim to die away.
Fergus stepped up to her side. “What in heaven’s name have ye been up to, mo chridhe?”
“Look and see, tesoro.” Without any more hesitation, she caught the blue silk cloth and flung it away from the painting.
The room fell silent, then fresh applause broke out, even more fervent than last time. Half-afraid of what she might find in Fergus’s face, Marina lifted her chin and met his eyes. “What do you think, Mackinnon?”
“Marina…” When he breathed her name, it sounded like a prayer. His features were stark with astonishment, and that little muscle in his cheek began to jerk and dance, always a sign of strong feeling. “You’ve made me look like a hero.”
She glanced at the full-length portrait of Fergus in his red and black Mackinnon kilt, set against the view across the sea to Skye. He stood proudly in the place where she’d started to fall in love with the glen—and with its laird. In the dramatic landscape, he ranged tall and straight. A breeze rustled through his auburn hair, and the gray eyes burned with steadfast and invincible power.
Marina had worked like a demon on this painting, although keeping her project secret from an attentive husband had presented its problems. She’d chosen to paint Fergus in oils, hoping the rich colors would do him justice. There had been some false starts before she grew proficient in the unfamiliar medium.
“But of course I have, amore mio.” She turned back toward her beloved laird, who was so much more vivid and potent than any painting could ever be. “Because you are a hero. You’re my hero.”
As she watched his slow, radiant smile light his features, all her nerves vanished. She couldn’t doubt that he liked her gift.
“I love you, lassie, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It’s a masterpiece.” He swooped in and kissed her, without sparing a thought to their watch
ing audience. “I was a lucky man the day I rescued ye from a cold dip in the burn.”
Marina couldn’t resist kissing Fergus back, although she was blushing by the time she drew free. “You once told me that if you save someone’s life, you keep a vested interest in that person forever.” Her voice was thick with emotion.
Her beloved husband’s smile told her he hardly credited his good fortune. “I’d have it no other way, my bonny lassie.”
The End
Have you enjoyed this Highlander romance from Anna Campbell? While you’re waiting for the next installments in the Likely Lairds series, why not try her charming Stranded with the Scottish Earl?
Blame it on the rain…
After her engagement to a local landowner ends in scandal and recrimination, Miss Charlotte Warren vows never to marry. Her father might write to say he’s found her the perfect husband – she’s sticking to her spinsterish guns. But when in the middle of a spring flood, her father’s choice turns up on the doorstep under an unconvincing alias, she has no choice but to take him in.
That doesn’t mean she’s going to marry Lord Lyle. No way.